


All Things Die

by acrossthestar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force-Sensitive Reader, Friends to Enemies, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm a slow writer, Jedi Reader (Star Wars), Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, hopefully, like really really slow burn, maybe smut but i'm a virgin so it'll probably be bad, obi-wan kenobi owns my ass, oversharing over there huh, that's the plan at least idk how mean i am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrossthestar/pseuds/acrossthestar
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is supposed to be dead, having vanished on Mandalore after the death of Satine Kryze. His closest friends are skeptical of his disappearance, their beliefs leading them on a frantic, galaxy wide search for his whereabouts and stumbling upon an unfortunate truth: Obi-Wan is far worse than dead, with a darker, more sinister fate befalling him.Stranded on an uninhabited moon in the far Outer Rim with no one else, you are forced to work with the newly crowned Sith Lord that was once Obi-Wan Kenobi, as the Force has always rooted for the two of you.( Sith!Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader )
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi/You, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala & Reader, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, a tiny hint of padmé amidala/reader if you squint enough because i am a raging bisexual, but like she's dead so it's not really happening anymore obi-wan's just sad about it
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i've been obsessed with the idea of sith!obi-wan for a while, but there is a lack of fics out there so i decided to write my own. the "prologue" chapter is a bit slow, but i promise it gets better in the next chapter! also i did this weird present tense thing for most of the prologue but it'll be past tense for most of the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In your life, you can remember being there for Obi-Wan three times. If only you could have been there for the fourth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a bit of a prologue, the next chapter will pick up the pace a bit <3

**The Three Times You Were There — And The One Time You Were Too Late**

* * *

The first time you meet Obi-Wan Kenobi, it is on Naboo. The planet was _breathtaking_ ; you had taken in every vibrant green field, every sparkling waterfall, and every delicately built structure with wide eyes.

The first time you _talk_ to Obi-Wan Kenobi, you are on Tatooine, aboard a damaged Nubian cruiser. Tatooine was _bleak_. Pale yellow sand stretched endlessly in a rather depressing landscape, the tiny grains picking up in a harsh windstorm and biting at your skin should you leave the safety of your ship.

The simple task of protecting Queen Amidala had taken a wild turn, and suddenly you found yourself stranded on the harsh desert planet, trapped inside a ship with the Queen, her handmaidens, and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

With your upcoming Jedi Trials looming over you, it was rare you left the safety of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. With that being said, this was _not_ the getaway you had planned, stuck on a hostile planet and with no one to talk to.

Well, that wasn’t _entirely_ true. You had gotten close with several of the handmaidens throughout your journey, but they seemed to be so tight-knit it felt intrusive to try and strike up a conversation while they were all huddled in the Queen’s quarters.

So that left slim pickings in terms of making conversation, and that was when you approached him. His dark mahogany robes had been cast to the side, pooling at his feet, so he was only adorned in various shades of plain beige that made up his tunics and tabard. Sitting in the corner of the ship with his legs crossed and his eyes sealed shut, he looked exactly how most would think when they thought of a Jedi. Calm. At peace. _Unbothered_ by the growing stuffiness of the ship, or the increased tension between Queen Amidala and her handmaidens as they waited anxiously for any news about their homeworld. The only indication he was fully conscious was the way his eyebrows were furrowed, forming small wrinkles along his sun-kissed skin and disturbing his otherwise content expression.

“You don’t have to stare, you know. I don’t bite.” Without moving from his meditative state, the boy opened his eyes slowly, the frown remaining on his face. Cerulean eyes trailed over you with a curious expression, the bright blue a refreshing burst of color amongst the dark greys of the ship’s surroundings.

“I’m — I’m not staring, I didn’t want to bother — ”

A small smile spread across his face as you began stammering, holding his tongue and letting you stumble over your own words for a moment, watching you with amusement twinkling in his gaze. “Padawan Y/N, right?” His tone was flat and polite; it was less of a question and more of a formality, his head tilted up to fixate on where you stood as he awaited your response, still seated.

“Yes, err… Obi-Wan.” At least you remembered his name, _that_ was a positive. Now seemed as good a time as any to strike up a conversation and break the awkward silence — you certainly weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, not unless Master Jinn appeared with the parts you needed. Slowly, you sank to your knees, back pressed against the cool metal material of the ship’s interior.

Now eye to eye, he extended a hand, a cordial enough gesture. Without a moment’s hesitation, you took it.

* * *

**One**

The first time you are there for him, it’s at his darkest hour.

The funeral of Qui-Gon Jinn is held at dusk; it is already dark by the time his body begins to burn. Several Jedi are there, alongside Queen Amidala, whose chalk-white face paint does little to hide her visible grief. Her handmaidens are hooded, but several faint, barely noticeable sobs escape from their direction.

Everyone’s eyes are on Obi-Wan, your’s included. He is standing beside Anakin Skywalker, a boy who looks so lost and lonely, but instead of comforting the younger child, all he can do is stare. He stares at the silhouette of Qui-Gon’s burning body, unable to tear his gaze away as his Master turns to charred remains and wispy ash.

He has tried to close himself off from the Force, but you can still sense parts of him peeking through. He is shrouded with darkness as it swallows him like a black hole. _Fear_ and _anger_ and _hatred_ , all emotions Jedi are barred from feeling, nearly drown out his grief, but that remains most prominent.

By the time Qui-Gon is completely gone, everyone begins to leave, until it is just you and Obi-Wan. The last few flames, however determined to stay, are dying, a gust of wind could come at any moment and snuff them out. Still, Obi-Wan does not leave. He can’t.

“Ben?” Your tone is laced with worry; not even the playful nickname you have coined him can drown out your concern. He doesn’t move. He can’t. His feet remain firmly planted in the Funeral Temple, his mind wandering to Force knows where.

With painful caution, you shuffle towards him, your movements awkward and stiff. You’ve only just met, after all, it would be improper to try and comfort him. “Obi-Wan,” you repeat, your voice stronger, a gentle push to get him to acknowledge you.

Finally, he does. His eyes are red-rimmed and glazed; despite the rule about _not forming attachments_ , Obi-Wan cannot help but mourn the loss of the only father he’s ever known. “Qui-Gon thought I could train the boy.” His voice is hoarse and weary. He cannot look away from the fire.

“Qui-Gon had faith in you, Obi-Wan. He _is_ right. You will make a fantastic Jedi Knight and an even greater mentor to Anakin.” You can tell your words mean little to him; he’s still wallowing in self-doubt and grief.

“What if I’m _not_ ready? I — Qui-Gon only said I was ready to take the trials after…” He swallows the resentment in his tone, “After Anakin was denied training by the Council. I… I wonder if he was just trying to get rid of me so he could train Anakin.”

You’re silent after that, unsure if your words of genuine comfort will come off as pity, and he will push you away and sink further into the darkness. You allow the sound of the fire crackling to fill the silence for a while before you try again. “Qui-Gon trained you for many years, he… he _knew_ you as well as you knew yourself, Obi-Wan. And he wouldn’t have left you for Anakin, because you were like his son. I only knew him for a short while and I could see he cared for you — he _did_ care for you, you know. He… he _loved_ you like a father loves his son.”

This time he meets your eyes, and you’re grateful to see a tiny spark of life in the blue depths. “Thank you,” he breathes out. He is not healed — only time can do that, but for the moment, he has clarity: he will be okay.

A pleasant silence lapses over the two of you as you move closer until your outer robes are barely touching. Silently, you both slide to the floor, watching as the last of the flames die out. Though neither of you are comfortable with physical contact, he allows himself to indulge in slight comfort, his head leaning against your shoulder as the last light dies.

* * *

**Two**

The second time you are there for him, it’s a collective effort on behalf of the Jedi Order. Alongside countless other Jedi Knights, you descended into the Geonosian arena, boots hitting the copper sand with a thud, lightsaber drawn, and ready to fight anything that came near you. You can make out the bulky figure of a Reek in the distance, three riders atop its tough, scaled back. That is where he is. His golden-red hair is messy and falls over his face and eyes, his clothes are disheveled and stained with blood and dust, but he is _alive_ , and that’s all that matters. Quickly, you break into a run, the wind whipping through your hair as poorly aimed blaster shots whiz past your body.

You come to face him finally; he is equipped with a blue lightsaber that is not his own — still, his hands grasp the borrowed hilt expertly as he deflects shot after shot, slicing down battle droids with deadly precision. Slowly, you forge a path towards him, breaths becoming heavy and uneven as the battle rages on. 

“This is quite a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into!” You say in a half shout, to be heard over the rapid-fire as you finally approach him.

“Glad you could make it!” He calls back, a grin lighting up his features at the sight of you. Quickly, you turn to cover him, your backs barely brushing against one another as you defend yourselves from all angles.

“The things I do for you, sticking my neck out like this.” You roll your eyes, your legs beginning to burn and your arms beginning to ache, not able to catch a moment's rest in the middle of the battlefield.

“Don’t worry.” A grunt as a blaster bolt grazes his arm. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“I’d like to see you try!” You’re not sure he hears your response as the Reek from earlier screeches, the thundering of its run barely giving you any warning before you’re swept off your feet, separated from him.

You don’t see him until much later, after he and his apprentice unsuccessfully battle against Count Dooku.

The medical bay is sterile, pops of red being the only color in endless stark white. Although the healer has insisted no one visits him, you can’t help but want to at least see him _once_ , to try and pretend everything is okay when it’s not — had it not been for Master Yoda, he and Anakin would have died. If you had heard correctly, Anakin was barely surviving.

_This isn’t an attachment_ , you tell yourself. It’s just looking out for your friends, your friends who almost _died_.

Anakin looks peaceful sleeping — he looks _small_ and _childlike_ . Your stomach churns as your eyes trail down to his arm, where metal has taken the place of flesh. You had hoped he’d awaken by now, it had been nearly _two_ days since his encounter with Count Dooku, but he remained asleep as you entered the room.

Obi-Wan is there. He is visibly tired: his shoulders are slumped over in defeat, his hair is knotted and soiled, and his eyes have heavy dark circles hanging under them. He hasn’t even changed his clothes from the battle, as his robes are cut and seared in several places.

“You look especially well today.” You know now is not the time to make jokes, not when it _clearly_ isn’t the time, but a part of you is desperate for normalcy. Obi-Wan shrugs his shoulders to acknowledge he’s heard you, but doesn’t say anything after that.

“How is he doing?” You ask, trying to elicit a response.

“They think he’ll make it. His arm…” Obi-Wan’s voice falters, and he doesn’t finish his sentence.

“He’s strong, Obi-Wan. Trust in the force.” Your sentence is a phrase many Jedi have already said to him, and Anakin was _still_ dancing the line between life and death. _Where_ was the Force now? _Why_ was he forbidden from being so _worried_ about Anakin when he had raised him since the age of nine? Frustration boils inside of him, but he doesn’t voice any of it.

“You need to take care of yourself if you want to help him.” Your hand on his shoulder sends a wave of calm through him, and he can’t help but acknowledge you’re _right_.

“I know,” he lets out a small laugh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as his vision begins to blur. He hasn’t slept in two days. “I must look awful.”

“Only a little bit,” you teased, relieved to see a hint of his former self emerge. “Go, I’ll watch him for now.” For everyone’s sake, you pray Anakin is alright.

* * *

**Three**

The final time you are there, the galaxy is being torn apart. Both of you are worn down and weary, growing more tired with every passing mission as you serve the Republic as generals.

Fortunately for you, for the next twenty four standard hours, you have nowhere to be. For the next day, you are free to do whatever you wish, without the fear of dying in your sleep from an enemy ambush.

_Unfortunately_ for you, your time of relaxation ends by hour four. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka have all returned from their mission to rescue the people of Kiros, stumbling in to the Jedi Temple in the late hours of the night.

Although you are not _expressly_ forbidden from visiting other Jedi in their quarters, it is still startling to hear a sharp knock at your door as you’re trying to fall sleep. Frowning, you opened it, only to be greeted by none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he looks positively _awful_.

“Obi-Wan?” Your voice was high pitched in disbelief. “What happened to you?”  
“Just a bit of trouble with the natives of Zygerria… nothing more,” he forces a small smile, as if joking will ease your concern — it does not.

“Come… Come in,” you backed into your quarters, “Have you seen a healer? That doesn’t look too good.” You gesture to the bruise over his eye, where splotches of purple, black, and blue are forming a nasty bump.

“Not yet,” he flashes you a crooked grin. “I wanted to see you first.”

“Don’t flatter me, Obi-Wan,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Wait here, I’ll find something for that.” You lead him over to your sleepcouch before rummaging around your belongings for bacta patches.

“You don’t have to do that, I was just on my way, I’m going to see the healer now — ” he protested, moving out of your way as you searched. A soft hiss of pain escaped his lips as his side brushed against the wall corner, dark scarlet beginning to dye his pale tunic.

“No,” you said sharply, grabbing the bacta patches. “It’s too far and you’re in… considerably _bad_ condition. Just sit.” He complies without much resistance, shedding his clothes until his upper half is completely bare, and you see it.

You let out a small gasp at the sight: his body is covered in ugly bruises and fresh, bloody scars, harsh red lines littering his entire back.

“You must’ve _really_ pissed off the locals,” you mumble, nimble fingers moving quickly to apply the bacta patches on the most serious of his wounds.

He hesitated. “You could say that. They were _quite_ unfriendly.” It was clear he didn’t want to delve into the gritty details, so you didn’t press the subject any further. You worked in silence, fingers skimming over his bare skin as you applied bacta patch after bacta patch, until your supply had run out.

“You should probably see a healer right now, Obi-Wan. This… these are serious wounds.”

“I know.” He wasn’t going to see a healer tonight. More silence. “They were slavers.”

“The locals?”

He winced at the memory. “Yes. They… they discovered our identity as Jedi. Rex and I were separated from Anakin and Ahsoka, we…” He didn’t really want to continue. “We were forced to work in the mines.”

“That… I… I am sorry, Obi-Wan.” His eyes met yours, and the room suddenly became insufferably hot. More silence as you stared at him for a moment too long. “I really think you should see a healer then, if it was that bad. I am not a professional.” He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

“Thank you for your help.” You couldn’t wait for him to shut the door behind you.

* * *

**Four — The End**

This time, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be there.

It was difficult, nearly impossible, to believe that Darth Maul lived, and his desire for vengeance burned brighter than a thousand suns. Through the Force, anyone could _feel_ his hatred; it ate him alive, consumed him every hour of the day. Maul’s desire to seek revenge on Obi-Wan Kenobi was all consuming. It was what kept his heart beating, what kept him breathing and moving, a single phrase bouncing around his mind in an endless circle — _Kenobi_.

As a violent depiction of innocents being slaughtered played across the conference table in a grisly hologram, it became clear that Maul must be stopped, and the only logical choice would be for Obi-Wan Kenobi to finish the journey he’d started all those years ago. A journey in which he’d watched his master’s life ebb away in a slow, painful death, with no one and nothing to console his grief. A journey where he became a metaphorical orphan, ill prepared for the cruelty of the galaxy, for Qui-Gon Jinn was the closest thing he had to a father. A journey which Obi-Wan was not keen on to revisit, for doing so would only allow never ending grief to flow through his body, consuming him and pushing him dangerously close to the dark side.

You had been in Obi-Wan’s life long enough to know the guilt of bystanders being butchered before his very eyes was _too much_. You watched the way his jaw tightened, the way his ocean blue eyes narrowed with a heavy determination, the gears that normally churned in his mind with clever ideas now dimmed and regretful, and although he normally stood tall, his shoulders now sagged slightly. 

Once again, Obi-Wan was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders, shoulders that were much too tired and ready to give way, where he would be vulnerable and meek against the storm of emotions that would pelt down upon his back. He wanted face this crisis like he all others: alone. No matter the dangers, no matter how much you could plead, Obi-Wan’s mind was set in stone — unless a direct order from the Council stated otherwise, Obi-Wan would find it difficult to allow others to pay for his own mistakes.

You stood on the sidelines, half your body masked in shadows as you waited passively to be addressed. You had been called by the High Council to report back from a mission on Ryloth, where you and your legion had successfully fought off an attempted Separatist invasion, and things had returned back to however calm they could be during wartime. However, your mission was of less importance right now, and would have to wait for Obi-Wan to be dismissed for youu to present yourself to the Council.

“I have to go,” Obi-Wan’s hand scratched the side of his auburn beard, waves of deep sorrow emitting from his force signature. Like you knew he would be, Obi-Wan felt responsible.

“Not alone you're not,” Master Windu argued, a frown of displeasure creasing his features. “We’ll send a task force with you.” _Thank the stars_ , you sent a silent blessing, knowing if Master Windu opposed his idea, Obi-Wan _might_ realize how reckless he was being to try and go after a former, deranged Sith Lord on his own.

“No,” he finally spoke, with a slight shake of his head. _What?_ “You've seen what he's capable of.” Obi-Wan waved an arm to the holotable, where the blue figures had disappeared. You let out an abrupt cough, earning several sharp, condescending glances from council members, a few of them wondering _what in the blazes_ you was doing in a council meeting, since you yourself did not sit on the council.

“I’ve dealt with him before, I can do it again.” There it was. That _stupid_ idea that everything was his fault, and that it was his responsibility to fix every and all problems he came across. This was not true, but he was too blind to see it.

“Finish what he started, Obi-Wan must,” Master Yoda hobbled towards the group of Jedi, relying heavily on his cane. His jade eyes swept over you but did not reprimand you for eavesdropping on a council meeting, instead focusing his attention on Obi-Wan, who nodded, flashing a silent thank you to the wise, aged master before him.

“Then I am off to Raydonia,” he dipped his head in farewell, as council members all around dispersed, seemingly forgetting about your report. Not that you minded; no, your thoughts were occupied with the idea of Obi-Wan going to hunt Maul alone, without any backup.

After a moment of deliberation, where you felt herself split in two, you ran after him. “Obi-Wan!” you called, grasping onto his sleeved arm and successfully halting him in his tracks. “What are you thinking?”

“I cannot allow more innocents to die because of me. He wants me to come alone, and I am afraid of what he will do if I don’t,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“Please, if you won’t let me come with you… Just promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Of course.” That was the last time you saw Obi-Wan Kenobi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's a bit slow, i wanted to build a bit of the reader's relationship with obi-wan before he turns into a sith lmao, so i apologize for the slow pacing. feedback is always appreciated!


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan has been dead for a month, but those closest to him sense something else below the surface.

Coruscanti sunlight spilled through the vast windows of Senator Amidala’s home, the luxurious furnishments soaking up the dying sunlight, drinking in its final rays before nightfall would inevitably arrive, and bring a cool breeze with it. Traffic had not died down, the faint blaring of horns could be heard as angry drivers swerved to narrowly miss collisions, but here, in the wealthy sectors of Coruscant, all was peaceful. As a Jedi, you rarely ventured to the Senate District, but you needed to seek comfort in your friend. Your gaze, once fixated on the setting sun in front of you, now flitted over to the Senator of Naboo.

Senator Amidala looked even more ethereal in the orange and yellow-tinted hues of the sunset than she did in daylight, if that was even possible. She stood in a soft silken robe with a nightdress underneath, rich chocolate curls framing her face and cascading down her back in loose ringlets, a much more casual state than you had seen her earlier in the Senate building. Once costumed with hefty, elaborate headpieces and dresses made of fabric so heavy it seemed to slow her down, she now looked much more relaxed in her own home. Coffee eyes scanned the departing security detail as they retired for the day, long lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she blinked slowly as if taking in everything that had happened in the span of twenty minutes. Her regal posture was weighed down by sorrow, though the deep frown etched into her features did little to mar her natural beauty. As lovely as the Senator looked, you knew she was much more than just a pretty face; the starry eyes you knew all too well were now glassy, as Amidala remained deep in thought.

“M’lady?” You called, your voice carrying through the solemn air cautiously, not trying to interrupt her thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Yes?” You could tell you had interrupted her train of thought, but Amidala was too polite and gracious to let you know that. “Oh, I’m…” her voice, once booming with authority as she addressed the Galactic Senate mere hours ago, was now soft and dreamy, as if she were lost in her own mind. “I’ll be alright.”

As curious as you were,  _ knowing  _ you shouldn’t press the subject, her force presence was radiating anxiety and grief in overwhelming amounts — although Amidala was not force sensitive,  _ all _ living beings were connected through the Force, and, as a Jedi, it was your  _ duty _ to be aware of their signatures.

“Er… Senator Amidala — ” You began, your venture cut short as she interjected.

“Padmé.” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You’ve known me for how long? Please, call me Padmé.”

“Padmé,” you began once again, slowly, as speaking with such informality was foreign to you. You didn’t  _ want _ to go here, not when the subject was as painful for you as it was for Padmé. Still, you pressed on. “Does… whatever’s on your mind have anything to do with Duchess Kryze?” Your stomach churned, nausea flooding your body. The news of Satine Kryze’s death a month ago spread like wildfire throughout the Senate, rumors whirling about as people tried to piece together bits of an incomplete story into something feasible. You knew very little of the situation yourself, only that Obi-Wan Kenobi had gone to try and rescue her,  _ promising _ you he would stay safe, and  _ that _ had failed; suddenly, whispers of  _ his _ death had spread just as quickly as Satine’s. Although the Council had not confirmed or denied anything, you were beginning to grow fed up with their secrecy.

You felt yourself tremble at the thought of Obi-Wan  _ dead _ , your many years of friendship unintentionally forming an…  _ attachment _ , for lack of a better word. You were  _ friends _ , and said friendship had remained steady throughout the years, even in wartime. It was consistent, but both of you held the other far enough apart for it to be isolating at times, as the Jedi Code demanded it.

“So you’ve heard,” Padmé let out a weary sigh, her mental walls beginning to crumble as she sat down on the plum-colored couch behind her. “They’re saying Obi — Master Kenobi is dead too. He’s a close friend, I don’t want him to be — ” Her voice quivered slightly as she stilled and closed her eyes. A pause, as if willing herself to continue, before, “I know he was your friend too, I don’t mean to — ” The way she spoke in past tense about Obi-Wan made your heart stop.

You cut her off, “Please,” you moved swiftly until you were seated on the couch next to the pale-faced senator, grasping her shaking hands in your own. “Please do not worry about me. I will let you know  _ everything _ about Master Kenobi as soon as I hear anything. Have Anakin or Ahsoka told you anything?” These words had the opposite effect you had intended them to have: instead of relaxing, Padmé’s entire body stiffened. 

“That’s… that’s the thing, I’m worried about Anakin. He and Ahsoka came here last night, and he was going on about how Obi-Wan was still alive, and how the Council was trying to cover something up.  _ Stars _ , you should’ve seen the look in his eyes, Y/N, he wasn’t thinking clearly!” Padmé inhaled sharply as words came tumbling from her mouth, waiting expectantly for you to say something.

“Anakin and Obi-Wan have always been close, you know that. Maybe he’s just grieving in his own way… but I have no doubt you know him better than I do — more than anyone does,” you danced around that subject carefully. The relationship between Padmé and Anakin was  _ not _ subtle to those closest to the pair, but, as Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had done, you turned a blind eye to it for their sake. You  _ liked _ seeing them happy, and nothing lit up Anakin’s face more than the prospect of seeing Padmé after a long mission, nothing was sweeter than watching as they embraced after days or even weeks apart.

Padmé’s curls bounced slightly in a delicate motion as the woman shook her head to disagree with your previous statement. “The last time Anakin thought Obi-Wan was dead, I thought I was going to lose him,” she admitted. “He was angry, more with himself than anyone, but he didn’t try and lie to himself. He accepted Obi-Wan was dead, but this time…” Her perfectly shaped brows knit into a tight frown, trying to remember something. “He keeps going on about Achonia? The planet? He says Obi-Wan’s there, and that the Council’s playing a trick on him again. He refuses to believe Obi-Wan is dead.”

_ That _ , you had to admit, was concerning. If Anakin could not allow himself to relinquish his attachment to his former master, you worried the Jedi’s theory that attachment led to the Dark Side would be proven correct.

“Has Ahsoka said anything? She spends the most time with him, I’d assume… is she worried?” A flicker of regret appeared briefly in Padmé’s eyes as if she was betraying someone.

“Yes. She’s worried about him, she says his…” she winced at the memory, “Anakin has grown more reckless on the battlefield. He’s losing more battles than he’s winning, and it’s costing the Republic more territory and men than they can afford.”

“What has he been saying about Achonia?” Your blood chilled at the thought of unnecessary bloodshed.

“He thinks,” Padmé rolled her eyes at this, though it did little to conceal how worried she was. “That Obi-Wan is hiding on Achonia. He was spotted there a few days ago in the city when Master…” She pursed her lips, trying to remember the name, “Shiri?”

“Shiri Veda?” You spoke up abruptly. Master Shiri Veda, an aging Twi’lek who had served the Order for many decades, had failed to check in from her mission of spying on the suspected factories on Achonia — Achonia claimed to be a neutral planet, but Republic intel had indicated they were hosting Separatist factories on one of their inhabited moons.

“Yes,” Padmé nodded, sensing the sudden change in the atmosphere. “Did you know her?”

You relayed everything you knew about Shiri’s mission, saying, “There were rumors the Separatists were planning on building another weapon, something that could destroy entire planets at once. The Council instructed her to see if those rumors were true, but she missed her check-in yesterday. The signal’s not always reliant, though, so they’re not too worried...”  _ Maybe they should be _ .

“Do you think Anakin is right?” Padmé’s breath hitched. “Is Obi-Wan really alive? And if he is, why hasn’t he come home?”

You wanted to believe so, oh,  _ stars _ , that was all you had thought about ever since you first heard the news, but you didn’t dare hope. “I don’t know,” you admitted, a defeated edge to your tone. “I would love nothing more than for him to be alive, but I can’t sense anything. The Force is so  _ clouded _ right now.” You knew that was not what Padmé wanted to hear, but it was the truth.

“I have faith in him, and I have faith in you.” Padmé moved to squeeze your hand with such ferocity her knuckles grew discolored, trying desperately to seek comfort in you as your fingers interlaced; she was still trembling. Her arm twitched slightly as she went to separate your fingers from her own, but an invisible force unknown to you held her back.

You let her hold on to you, knowing all you could do was return the squeeze and ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. “I must be going soon,” you began regretfully, prying your hands apart in a painfully slow manner. “Thank you, Padmé, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”  _ May the Force be with us, because Maker knows I need it _ .

“Wait!” Padmé called after you, her hand clutching the sleeve of your robe as she held you back for just a moment longer. You were now eye to eye, her breath fanning across your face as her fingers traced tiny patterns into your palm. It was a distraction to hide the fact she couldn’t bring herself to meet your gaze. “When you get back to the Temple, if he’s there, will you check up on Anakin?”

“Of course.”  _ Maker knows Anakin needs Padmé more than anyone right now _ .

“Oh, and,” Padmé sucked in a breath, dropping your arm after a long moment. “Just promise me you’ll be safe.”

You feigned a smile that lasted until you reached the elevator before breaking into a cold sweat. The last time you had said those words, he had not upheld his promise.

* * *

It was night by the time you reached the Jedi Temple grounds, faint twinkling of nearby stars dotting the thick, inky blanket of the night sky and heavy pollution. Fumes from nearby factories and exhaust from the surrounding speeders created a thick, hazy coat of smoke that made it difficult to see anything but the vibrant, neon lights of various signs and traffic signals. Despite it being rather early in the evening, only about eight, it was significantly quieter in the Temple district, as if even the millions of Coruscanti residents were mourning. The Temple had always stood proud, a symbol of peace and hope throughout the galaxy, but lately, it began to seem more and more like a prison, trapping you within its walls of secrecy and stoicism. 

Your mind was still buzzing with the conversation you had with Padmé, very,  _ very _ cautiously optimistic about Obi-Wan’s status. At the moment, you wanted nothing more than to speak to Anakin, but he and Ahsoka were leading the 501st in the Outer Rim, and you knew talking about Obi-Wan would only make his already brash actions take a turn for the worse.

You allowed your mind to wander back to what the Council had told you a month ago when you first received the news of his death.

_ “We cannot jump to any conclusions yet, Knight L/N,” Master Windu had spoken in a tone so grave yet impassive it made your blood boil — Obi-Wan had been a friend to every single person who sat on the Council, but the way Windu’s eyes, emotionless pools of dark umber, were so calm and unperturbed… it was as if Obi-Wan was nothing more than a distant memory, despite being assumed dead for less than a day. _

You shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Sleep was out of the question — you had spent the past month tossing and turning in your modest quarters, awakening several times in the middle of the night with sweat dampening your entire body, hair wild and unruly and sleep tunic glued to your frame. No, you couldn’t sleep, so you decided to head over to the Archives, the words  _ alive _ and  _ Achonia _ echoing in your mind.

After a quick exchange of pleasantries with Jocasta Nu, you settled deep into your research, quickly realizing you had very little to go on. You surfed the HoloNet for any mention of his name, coming across something potentially useful about an hour in, scanning the article for any key phrases. A bounty over the head of someone who was only described as “Jedi scum”, and “ten thousand credits to be paid upfront in the form of spice.” A hefty reward with little to go on: a blurry photo of a hooded man, hints of an auburn beard peaking through the bottom. 

You tried not to get excited, you  _ tried _ to ignore the way your heart skipped ten beats, the way your chest constricted, and the way blood rushed to your head.  _ Don’t get excited,  _ please  _ don’t get too excited _ , you chided yourself, but no amount of stern words could crush the hope budding in your chest. Leaning back in your chair, you tried to ground yourself in meditation, imagining a salty wave of ocean water drowning out the rest of your thoughts.  _ Obi-Wan? Are you still there? _ For the briefest of moments — it was so sudden you thought you had imagined it — you were certain he was.

Your eyes flew open, letting out an abrupt cough as you choked on your breath. You  _ had _ to tell Padmé, that was the only logical thing to do.

You had never run faster in your life, tearing through the streets of Coruscant in a very  _ un Jedi-like _ manner, robe whipping in the wind and eyes beginning to tear with growing exposure to the cold air. Nothing could slow you down, not when you were fuelled with such a dangerous feeling: hope.

“Padmé!” You finally came to a halt as the elevator door hissed open, feet skidding to a halt as you arrived in the apartment, face to face with a silver blaster, smooth-edged and pointed directly at your forehead.

Her hair was ruffled, slight tangles weaving their way through the voluminous pile of perfect curls atop her head. Her eyes were red and still bleary with sleep, and she looked  _ crazed _ at that moment. Gone was the robe she had been clothed in earlier, now only wearing a short nightdress that barely reached her knees and exposed her legs, lace intricately woven over the tight-fitting fabric on her chest. The lilac of the silk fabric complemented her skin tone perfectly, the figure of the dress hugging her slender, petite frame — in other words, she looked straight of a dream.

“Oh, it’s you!” Padmé breathed a sigh of relief, lowering her blaster and muttering an apology. “You should  _ not _ come in here screaming like a madman at this hour! Or any hour really, but  _ especially _ at — ” She stopped mid-lecture, raising an eyebrow in suspicion, finally taking in your flushed cheeks and ragged breath. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Anakin is right,” you breathed, not bothering to hide the excitement that shone in your eyes. “Padmé, if Obi-Wan’s alive, I  _ have _ to go looking for him!”

The woman in front of you didn’t respond for a long time, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Finally, rose lips parted, and she spoke. “I believe you want to help your friend.” You could tell there was a  _ but _ coming. “But are you  _ sure _ about this? Or are you letting your personal feelings get in the way?” She sounded exactly like the Jedi.

“He’s one of the best generals in the Republic, and with this war seeming to continue on forever, we cannot afford to lose him. It’s not…  _ just _ for me, or for Ahsoka or Anakin.” You didn’t know who you were trying to convince more,  _ her _ or  _ you _ .

“You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?” Her tone bordered an accusation.

“Yes.” There was no way to lie to her: you had already made up your mind, you  _ were _ going to Achonia.

“When are you planning on leaving?” She began to pepper you with questions. “Tonight? Tomorrow? How will you evade the suspicion of the Jedi Council? Don’t you have a war to fight? What of your legion?”

“Okay, I haven’t thought it all the way through,” you admitted. “But I’ll think of something!”

“You can protect me,” Padmé suggested, her mind whirling with ideas. “You can say I’m going on a relief mission and require additional security. Would that work?”

“I…” Padmé had been placed under the protection of the Jedi several times, but each time it was requested by the Chancellor or her guards, never Padmé herself — she was too stubborn to admit she couldn’t handle herself sometimes. “Yes, I think so. But you can’t  _ actually _ go with me! No offense Padmé, but your face is very easy to recognize, and you’re not exactly well-liked among the Separatists.”

“I’ll stay on the ship while you go into town and make some inquiries. No one will see my face, and if Obi-Wan’s there, it shouldn’t take too long to find him.” You saw the way her chin was raised defiantly, the way her eyes were gleaming with stubbornness, and knew it was useless to argue.

“This plan is… risky.  _ Really _ risky,” you let out a sigh.

“I know,” Padmé flashed you a toothy grin. “Now hurry up and gather your things, I’ll meet you in docking bay 78 in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

The stars seemed to shine that much brighter as you trekked towards the Jedi Temple once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i doubt my updates will be this regular but i am zooming through this chapter. a bit of a lengthy exposition, but obi-wan comes in the next chapter. feedback and kudos are always highly appreciated <3


End file.
